at the time it made sense
by redrocketracer
Summary: Stan just wants to feel something again, without the aid of alcohol. Craig just wants to stifle anything he feels unpleasant. Love is a waste of time, and romantic feelings are messy. Stan's messy. But he still finds himself coming back.
1. boundaries

Jmart is a breathing ground for customers with piss poor attitudes. Craig thinks it as he talks down an angry, older woman demanding that she have a refund. Kenny stands to the side, looking almost scared. Like this woman will come and murder him with his purse.

"We don't give refunds on this," Craig repeats himself for the upteenth time. He keeps his demeanor calm. Cool and chilly, apathetic. The woman's face is flushed red, her hands curled around a shopping cart. Wrinkled and leathery.

Craig cannot fathom why she wants to return a box of condoms that has been partially opened. Can't understand why anyone would think that this is ok to return after it's been tampered with. Can't comprehend why a woman her age really needs them. He lets out a sigh, and finally puts a goddamn foot down.

"Listen. We can't take this back. It's been tampered with. Please leave, there is nothing I can do for you." The woman's brow furrows at this. And Craig can see that she's pissed.

The woman yells at him for a whole ten minutes about how she's calling in a complaint. How she can't believe he's the manager. Blah blah blah.

When she's done, stormed off out of the store with the purse Kenny was so petrified of having his skull bashed in with. Craig turns to Kenny, flips him off. Then walks back to his office.

Another day, another dollar earned. But was the compensation for such a shit job really worth it?

Craig rubs his temples. Lets a sigh escape his lips and looks over at the time. Just one more hour of this shit. Then he can be safe in the confines of his apartment. Can sink into steaming hot water poured into his bath.

There is a knock on his door and Craig's attention goes from looking down at the schedule to Stan Marsh's peeking his head in. His full body comes into view as Craig looks to him. He's got his hands stuffed into his pockets, an apron with blood stains littering what used to be pure white. A hair net guarding his black hair with one headphone stuffed into his ear.

"I'm going home, dude." Stan informs Craig. Craig blinks at him, checks his watch, then the schedule. It's 8 PM. Right. End of his shift.

"Ok. Why are you telling me?" Craig pries. He's really not interested, it's just strange that Stan is letting him know. He doesn't have to consult Craig of his departure. They have an electronic system that lets you clock in and out.

"Because Kenny just disappeared or whatever, man. You're under staffed." Stan shrugs as he says, moving his arms as to show his apathy towards the situation. Craig lets out an annoyed sigh.

"Whatever. Get out of my office." Craig retorts sharply. Stan blinks at him, rolls his eyes.

"Christ, you're rude as fuck." And with a swift closing of the door—not quite slamming but not gently; Stan leaves. Craig sits in the dim lighting of the office, puts his head in his hands. Lets out a groan. And decides he'll cover for Kenny.

By the time Craig gets home his legs ache, it's late and he doesn't quite know how he makes it to his third floor apartment. He's tired. Tired all over. And at this point he wants to go to his bed and collapse.

As he steps in he's greeted by Clyde with Butters sitting next to him. Butters is huddled up in a blanket, eyes glued to the screen of the tv that plays reruns of Terrance and Phillip. Craig does not question this nor humor it; opts to walk straight to his bedroom and passed the two without a hello.

Sleep. That's all he can think of. Craig still checks his phone—more out of habit at this point. A few Facebook notifications and a few tumblr reblogs. A text from a number Craig doesn't recognize. He opens it up, the gray box with black text is what he sees.

**Unknown**

I forgot what time my shift is tmmrw

Craig reads that, over and over as if it doesn't quite register with him. He knows this is one of his employees but he can't fathom why they think he has their number saved.

**Craig**

Ok. But who is this?

Craig lays back on his bed. Lets himself sink into the comfort of his pillow and blankets. He's drifting off, eyelids low, lashes kissing the apples of his tan cheeks.

But then his phone makes a "ding!" to signal the arrival of a new text. Craig forces his eyes open to check this, peeved.

**Unknown**

Stan.

Craig lets out a long suffering sigh. He wants to say he fucking hates Stan, but their rivalry mostly dwindled after middle school. Craig just didn't have the energy to keep a resentment towards him. But that doesn't mean he likes him, just tolerates him.

**Craig**

2PM-7PM

Craig puts his phone down, expects this to be the last time they text unless something is needed. He squeezes his eyes shut now.

The sunlight filters in through Craig's blinds. It tickles his face, and he scratches where the sliver of heat is shining on him.

With a yawn, Craig stretches his body out from the sleep, the tired. He just wants to lay here. He can, he has off. So Craig closes his eyes again, grabs his phone of his night stand. Burrows himself into his blankets.

Under the confines and warmth of his comforter Craig checks his phone. The first thing he sees is that Stan texted him. He lets a sigh escape him at what he reads.

**Stan**

I need off

Is he fucking serious? Craig's brows furrow and he lets out a groan. He's not even the shift manager today and it pisses him off.

**Craig**

Why?

**Stan**

You want the truth or a lie

Craig wants to chuck his phone across the room in frustration. He can feel his ears getting heated, they always do when he's angry. He doesn't get angry anymore, though. He doesn't lose control of his emotions. So he takes a deep breath.

**Craig**

The truth

**Stan**

Sick. Binge watching MCU.

Deep breath. Deep breath.

**Craig**

MCU? What's an MCU?

**Stan**

Are you serious? Marvel cinematic universe?

Only the best film franchise in existence, man.

Craig blinks in confusion. He's not angry, he's evened his breathing. Has gathered the control he needed. He stares at his phone with blank eyes and types out a response.

**Craig**

Like superhero's?

Yk I don't care abt super hero's.

And it's true, he doesn't. Craig is sci fi and fantasy. He remembers dressing up as super Craig, remembers not really getting into the character. He also remembers dressing up as feldspar, spaceman Craig. Those were things he liked, characters he designed for his own desire. Super Craig was more from being asked to do so.

Stan should know as he was there clad in his father tools.

**Stan**

Neither did my mom, but now she loves RDjr.

What the fuck.

**Craig**

Idk what an RDjr is

It's honest. He's not even sure how to comprehend what those jumble of letters are supposed to mean.

**Stan**

Robert Downey Jr, the actor? Look dude, just come over. You can join me.

**Craig**

You're not going to get me stuck in Peru again, are you?

**Stan**

No man. Trust me. I have popcorn and whatever drinks you'd like.

**Craig**

...ok

Craig puts his phone down. Looks to the ceiling. It's barren, plain white. Like the entirety of his room. Boring. Like most else in his life.

He likes it that way. It's safe that way.

He'll humor Stan.

But as soon as he tries to do something like get him sent to the moon, he's out. With that boundary set on Craig's mind, he gets up, gets dressed. Makes his way out of his apartment door, passed Butters and Clyde who are tangled up together on the couch. Down the stairs and to his car.


	2. promises

Looking at the Marsh residence is surreal. Craig thinks this as he pulls up, parking on the side of the road. He has not come here since elementary school. Has not wanted to come, really. Craig really doesn't want to be here now.

Maybe it's boredom. Maybe it's because Craig doesn't pull out of things he says he'll do. It's rare that you'll find Craig skipping work, rare that you won't see him do a task that he promised. Though, realistically Craig doesn't make promises unless it's professional.

This is not professional. Craig writes it off as just not wanting to hear Clyde play his video games nor smell the sickly sweet of Butters baking. Butters is always baking, he's a pastry chef and always is trying to come up with new, hip things for his instagram. While Clyde does streams, almost daily. Has quite a name for himself. It's odd, as he was the one who backed out of the whole world of Warcraft scenario. Once Clyde found out about professional gaming, he sat himself down in front of a tv and let it consume his time. It's contradicting to his younger self. People change, though. They always do.

With a sigh, Craig unbuckles himself and steps out of his car. It's bright in July, the sun beams down on him. Warming Craig, a contrast from the iciness of his car, where he had the AC blasting,

It's almost nice. South Park is always freezing. July is the exception.

Craig crosses the distance from his car to Stans front door. Raises a hand to knock, but as he does so, the door swings open. And there stands Stan, clad in Superman pajama pants and a T-shirt. The logo for a band called "hot mulligan" stands out to Craig, it's one of his favorites. But he remains quiet about it.

He doesn't look sick. At least not in a feverish way. It's more in the head, more in the heart. Craig can feel it vibrating off of Stan, can smell it. Quite literally. Maybe it's because they don't interact much at work, but besides the scent of booze thick ad heavy—like Stan sprayed it as a perfume, walked into the cloud of it. His hygiene is lacking.

"Come in," Stan says easily. Craig blinks, follows Stan into the living room of his parents house. Eyes roaming his surroundings. The once orderly and neat downstairs is a mess of clothes, a blanket with pillows on the couch. An ashtray placed on the coffee table that looks a mess of cigarettes, nicotine and ashes.

Stan throws the pillows to the floor and lifts the blanket, sitting down and putting it over his frame. He's left a spot open for Craig, who hesitates before taking a seat next to him.

It's silent, and Craig looks ahead at the tv screen. Displayed on it is the movie poster for Iron Man, and it's information.

"Drink?" Stan questions, he holds out a bottle of bud light. Craig looks at the others fingers curled around the can, the condensation that is rolling down the tin. Stans hand is wet from it. Craig shakes his head, no. Picks up the pack of cigarettes on the table instead.

Craig lights as Stan puts on the movie. Tries to pull his long legs up onto the couch. They bump against the others. There is little distance between them physically.

But a big gap otherwise.

They sit, squished together while the movie begins. Robert Downey Jr. being escorted, and then being in captivity.

It's when that the antagonists of the movie demands Downey's character build weapons for him when Stan puts his arm around Craig. Pulling the other close to him. Craig assumes it's liquid courage, must be. Stan has always been more of a pussy when it comes to romance, to girls and physical touch. But here he is, pulling Craig onto his lap.

Somehow they end up with Craig in between Stans legs, limbs tangled and body pressed together on the couch. It doesn't mean anything at all, really. The couch is small. Stan knows just as much as everyone else that Craig doesn't do romance. Dating. Nada. He made it very clear when he broke up with Tweek, rather publically.

"Romance is dead." While pouring his cup of chilled coffee on Tweeks trembling head. Craig ended up with a black eye and busted lip. Tweek was a fighter.

Anyways, while Craig doesn't know what it going on in Stans life to a T. He does know he broke up with Wendy non too long ago. Lost most of his friends, except Kenny. Like the the internal emo kid Craig knows Stan to be, he's sulking. He's grieving. Craig will let him have that. It's not like Stans cynical outlook on life is exactly wrong.

He does know that Stan isn't interested, though. It's not a matter of him being straight more as it is him being stuck in his bubble of pity.

So Craig accepts Stans arms wrapped around his thin frame.

They continue on with the movie. The silence thick but growing more comfortable. Craig shifts and moves a bit in Stans lap. It's when Pepper Potts is digging her hand into Iron Man's chest when Craig feels it. The growing boner against his ass.

"Are you serious?" Craig complains, Stan has another bottle of bud light pressed to his lips where he takes a hearty gulp.

"What?" Stan slurs out. Craig squirms a little under Stans grip of him. Lets out a sigh.

"You really have a boner right now? At this scene?" Craig digs in. Stan blinks, eyelids hanging low over blue orbs. He places the drink down.

"What? Sick, dude. That's sick." Stan mumbles. He presses the pause button and the still of Pepper Potts hand buried in Iron Man's chest is there, frozen. He lets his grip of Craig go, and Craig stands, grabs the cigarettes off the table and makes way to the front door to smoke. Craig doesn't look back to Stan, even after he lets out an audible "fuck!" Followed by the sound of something hard falling on carpet.

Craig's already sitting on the Marsh's front step. Already lit one of the menthol cigarettes. Already into his second drag. Stan sits down next to him and looks at the little houses surrounding them. Each one is familiar and if Craig really wanted to, he can name who lives where.

They don't look nor touch. They are not pressed together or in a small confine. But Stan does break the silence.

"You can stay the night dude," he states. And Craig looks to him now. The dip at the bridge of his nose, the lift of the tip. Soft pink lips poked out and wrapped around his cigarette.

Craig feels something almost foreign. Something he hasn't felt in awhile. Little flutters, like moths coming out of their cocoons. It's uncomfortable. And Craig tries to crush them with his mind. Rid of them.

He doesn't have a problem with stifling this. Or hurting Stan to not feel it. Though he doubts he really would.

"No, I have better things to." he retorts. Blunt and apathetic. He doesn't. Not really. But he wants to leave. Wants the newly shed moths to go away. Craig stands and dusts himself off. Looks at the time on his phone. He hasn't even been here long. He wants to go.

"You're so fucking rude, christ. Fucking dickhole." Stan says. It's all messy, slurred a mumbled. Craig doesn't comprehend why he's even mad at him. He shrugs his shoulders.

"You're surprised by that?" Craig starts. Stan got his head buried in his hands. And Craig hears him sniffle.

"No. Just. Fuck you, ok? Go away." It's choked and sloppy. Craig blinks, and he feels his fingers tap against the pavement with anxiety. He doesn't like being told what to do. Not by anyone. Especially not by Stan marsh. Craig is his own person. He does his own thing. Who does Stan think he is?

Deep breaths. Control.

"Nope. Now I'm gonna stay." Craig spits out with more force than he intends. Stan lets out a groan, and looks to him. There is anger written across his face that Craig hasn't seen in awhile. Not when Stans drunk at parties nor sober at work.

"LEAVE." Hes yelling, standing up and yelling at Craig to get the fuck away from him. To get out of his house. To leave him alone. And Craig stands there, blank faced and quiet. His sweaty fingers curl into fists.

Control. Control.

"I'm not fucking leaving!" It comes out of Craig, loud. Louder than he's ever been in awhile. Stan stops his own yelling. Becomes completely frozen in his tracks. He blinks. And there are tears gathered on his face, snot and salt.

"Fine." Stan lets out, he goes up the steps, leaving the door open for Craig to come into his messy little home.

Craig should leave, he didn't really intend to stay. He lost control of his emotions. That's a rarity and he clenches his metal coated teeth.

He should leave, but he stomps up the steps. Closes the door and lays next to Stan on the floor. Stan is on the couch, burrowed into blankets. Hiding his face into the plush of the pillow.

Craig listens to the sound of the others sobbing. And Stan is messy, messy as hell with it.

But Craig stays anyways.

Body turned away from the other. If tears begin to gather in the corners of his eyes too, no one would know.


	3. bologna

Stan puked on him. It's what Craig wakes to. His slender fingers pull back from where they were rested on his side. Craig brings them to his face and sees the sliminess coating it. He lets out a sigh.

It's like clockwork. Craig wipes it off onto the carpet. Stands and looks to Stan who is asleep. Mouth slightly open with little chunks of the puke sticking to the sides of his mouth. It's been a long time since he has had to take care of someone in this state.

Craig remembers how his mom was when her and his biological dad broke up. The days spent hiding in her room, staring into the wall like it was the most fascinating thing ever. This was before Thomas, before Tricia. Craig was only just turning 5, he was still so young. He would crawl into bed next to her. Take his fingers and comb it through her blond hair.

"Mommy, I'm hungry." He remembers crying out. Her gaze would remain steady in that one spot.

"That's nice honey" he remembers some days, the better days where Craig would lead Laura to the bathroom, pour water over her trembling frame. She'd clean herself while Craig aided her. He remembers stuffing his face with ramen or pop tarts he'd steal from Kenny McCormick. Which is odd in itself and shitty. The McCormick's are worse off, but Craig knew he was hungry in his mind. Knew he needed to satiate this.

It was Thomas that snapped her out of it. Thomas ruffling Craig's hair as he'd pass him. Thomas who took over with food, with helping Laura. And then she was pregnant. So something clicked, maybe she realized how unfair it is for Craig, for this new child. For Thomas.

And although Craig is somewhat resentful at Thomas for cheating—he remembers this. Looked up to the other for quite awhile. Until everything fell to shit.

So it's clockwork. Craig wipes the smeared puke off Stans face with his shirt. Pulls the comforter over him as it has slipped a bit. Only his legs being covered. Then goes to the kitchen.

It's Sharon that greets him. The sound of clinking silverware and water running becomes more prevalent. Craig doesn't know how he didn't hear that. He makes way to the Marsh's freezer, finds that there are waffles.

"There is ibuprofen in the cabinet." Sharon informs Craig. She doesn't even look to him. Just continues cleaning. It's strange and familiar. But Craig doesn't vocalize this.

With the new found information Craig puts two waffles into the toaster oven on the counter. Then opens the cabinets to look for ibuprofen. When he finds it, Craig shakes out the pills. Takes a glass and puts it on the counter next to the sink. Sharon retrieves it, fills it with water, then passes it back to Craig.

The waffles come out with a pop, and Craig swipes them up. Puts them on a paper towel and walks back out into the living room. In the other hand he has the glass of water with pills in his palm. They're pressed to the surface. Between glass and flesh.

Craig drops down to Stan's level. Sees the black strands that had fallen into his face. If Craig's hands weren't so full, he thinks out of impulse he would have moved them. He doesn't, just puts the food and medicine on the table for him.

And then he leaves.

Craig has the closing shift that night. It's almost 3 by the time he leaves Stan. He sits in his car in the parking lot. A cigarette pressed between his lips. Fortunately, Craig always carries a spare change of work clothes. Always. When you work in retail, there are always accidents.

So Craig just comes prepared.

The clock reads 3:20, so Craig snuffs out his cigarette in the empty soda can that has become a makeshift ashtray. He gathers his clothes from his trunk and makes way to the employees bathroom. When he's holed up in the confines he takes some of the hand dispenser soap, washes under his arms. Then slips the teal shirt on. He's still got work pants on and opts not to change those out.

3:45, so Craig goes to the break room. Sits down at one of the tables and waits until it's closer to 4, clocking in. He looks to his phone after not checking it for quite some time. Sees that he has a new text from Stan.

**Stan**

Thanks

Is all it says. It dawns on Craig that they both work today, he lets out a sigh. Hopefully he can stay in his office, do paperwork and avoid the other. He doesn't respond. Craig did not take care of Stan out of pity or giving a fuck, more out of routine. So he hopes he doesn't have to see him.

And it seems to play out as such. Craig goes through the schedule, through some other shit. It's growing closer to closing with each loud tick of the clocks hand.

It's 8:30 when his phone rings for the first time that day. It's been quiet at jmart. It's a slow day so Craig assumes there must not have been much complaint or questioning. He lets a sigh escape him before answering.

"Jmart, Craig Tucker, the manager speaking." He drawls into the phone. Craig looks at the damn clock. Willing it to spin, faster, for time to just skip.

"Hey, you're needed it meat." Comes the tired voice of Stan over the phone. And Craig really wishes lasers could shoot out of his eyes at that exact second. Wishes he could blow the phone up into tiny pieces.

"Alright." Is all Craig says before he hangs up. He lets out another long, exaggerated sigh. Stands and pushes his way out of his office, out of the back of jmart and onto the floor. Makes way to the meat department where Stan stands there with a piece of lunch meat in his hand. He has a blank look at his face, as a young mom throws insult after insult at him.

"I asked for thin slice! Thin! This is medium, how can you make that mistake?" She whines. Craig wants to roll his green eyes back into his fucking head. But he knows there is a level of professionalism he has to keep.

"Ma'am. I'm the manager, He'll just have to slice it again." Craig interrupts. She turns to him and looks as if she's ready to pounce, punch his fucking face in.

"I have to pick up Julie you fuckig dicks! Are you kidding me—I've waited long enough!" Craig counts to three in his head, deep breath in and out. Keeps his usual apathetic demeanor in tact.

"I don't know who Julie is. But please, you're scaring other customers. You can wait or leave." She's red faced and Craig's not sure exactly why she's so mad about lunch meat. He's about to ask 'what's your decision?' But before he can speak, he is hit with the food. A stack of sliced bologna, and as it falls to the floor, Craig has to grit his teeth.

"That's assault. I'm calling the cops if you don't leave."

She's fuming, but she takes her her claws off from where they were curled around a shopping cart. Storms off to who knows where.

Craig lets out a noise of frustration, looks ahead at the cart where the woman was standing, then briefly to Stan who still is holding up the lunch meat. He has a headphone in again. And he stares openly at Craig, even as Craig puts a hand up to his forehead and tries to even his breathing. Shallow and choppy from repressed anger,

"Your bleeding dude." He says, and Craig's eyes dart to him. He finally puts the food down. Stan walks out from behind the counter, grabs one of the napkins that are there for people to take. He steps into Craig's space, his personal bubble. For what Craig assumes is to wipe away the blood he can now taste on his lips with a swipe of his tongue.

Craig wants to protest, tell Stan to fuck off. But he doesn't. Inside he is trying to contain his anger. And a million little things has him frozen in that spot. Stan takes the napkin and dabs Craig's mouth. Then holds it there for him when it's cleaned up. It tickles, and Stans fingertips brush against the soft, pink flesh of Craig's lips.

"Uh, there." Stan says, pulling away. Craig watches him. Watches him step back from Craig's bubble. Where he should be. But they are still rather close. And Stans tired blue eyes are on Craig's.

There are flutters again. Little moths poking their heads out of those damn cocoons that Craig thought he smothered.

"I'm going back to my office." Is all Craig says as he turns on his heel. Does exactly what he said he'll do.


	4. pity

The scent of cinnamon is prominent, Craig can smell it from outside of his apartment. As soon as Craig opens the door, it's like he walked into a bakery. He kicks of his sneakers, makes way to cross the short distance to Butters. He's hunched over his phone, singing under his breath.

lo lo lo, I got some apples…

Craig maneuvers himself passed the other, makes way to rummage through the fridge. He finds a carton of milk, takes a sniff, then puts it in the garbage.

"W-well hey there Craig! Thanks for throwing that out, fella!" Butters speaks, looking up from his phone. He presses it off, temporarily black screen. Makes way to pull on the handle of the oven. The scent of sickly sweet comes out in a cloud.

"Yeah," Craig responds. He's got himself buried in the refrigerator again, looking for dinner. It's almost barren at this point. Just sticks of butter and some almond milk. Craig lets out a sigh, he's not that hungry anyways. It's more out of obligation to have sustenance at this point.

The fridge closes as Craig lets his hold of the door go. He walks passed Butters, who pulls out the cinnamon buns. Finds a seat next to Clyde, who is pressing buttons on his controller furiously.

"Boom. And that's the tea, guys." Clyde lets out as he shoots off someone's head. Craig pulls his long legs up on the couch. Looks down at his phone. He's been consumed with work. Shift after shift, endlessly to fill his time. Craig feels like this is the first time he's been able to relax. So with a press of a button, he checks his notifications.

And all he can see is that he has a text message from…

**Stan**

Hey.

Craig blinks at the message. He's confused, his brows furrow. And Craig squints his eyes a bit. Why is Stan even texting him? There is no need, no reason. He hopes the other doesn't think they're friends. Hopes he doesn't think there is more to them then being co workers, and that one night where they watched iron man.

That was a few weeks ago. Craig has done his routine, got up, went to work. Set schedules, did paperwork and dealt with customers. He hasn't talked to Stan, hasn't looked at him either. When Craig is called to meat, he does what he needs to do. Returns to his office. Today is finally his day off, so he sinks into the couch. Opts to leave this alone for now.

Craig's eyes drag back to Clyde's stream. He can see himself in the left hand corner. It's weird, really. The pixel that make him that he's staring at. It's still Craig though. Curled into himself next to Clyde. Black hair that is just above his shoulders, curls at the ends. Shoved behind his ears. A clean shave and eyelids that partially lid green orbs. Long nose and pink, thick lips with tan skin. Teal work shirt and khakis.

Craig doesn't like the way he looks.

It's why his bathrooms mirror is covered with an old pillow case. Craig resents having to use public bathrooms. Hates the days he walks into jmart and changes in their restroom.

So he looks away at the copy cat staring at him. Lifts himself from the couch to go to his room where he shuts the door behind him. Goes to his bed and lays on top of the covers.

Craig checks his phone again, messes around on tumblr. Reblogging red racer fanart and pretty photos of places he'll never go. He's about to click onto YouTube when another message comes in.

**Stan**

I wanted to ask a favor,

Craig blinks at the new message, swipes his finger to open it. Both of the texts are labeled for that day. Craig stares at them for a few seconds. He almost closes out of the app.

**Craig**

I don't do favors.

**Stan**

Uhg

Craig taps his fingers on the back of his phone before letting a sigh escape his lips. They make a clack, clack, clack noise. And after a few seconds Craig starts typing in a new message.

**Craig**

What did you want?

**Stan**

To get the fuck out of here, dude. Parents are fighting.

**Craig**

And thats my problem why…?

Craig doesn't expect Stan to respond. Expects him to drop the conversation. Maybe go on to Kenny, who Craig knows to be one of Stan's only friends. He pulls his comforter over his body, over his head. It's dim in the confines of Craig's bedroom, pitch black under the safety of his blankets. Just a bluish hue of illumination bouncing from Craig's phone to his face. He roams the internet mindlessly, just to pass time until he gets his well deserved rest.

Craig is about to doze off when his phone makes a ding, signaling a new text. And isn't that oddly familiar, and doesn't Stan have a bad habit of texting Craig when he's half asleep,

**Stan**

Just. Come on, man. Please,

Craig blinks down at the text. Green eyes reading that over and over. Is Stan Marsh seriously begging him?

Craig lets a sigh escape his pink lips.

**Craig**

You're pathetic

Be there in 10

Craig throws his blankets off of himself in frustration. Doesn't bother changing out of his uniform and grabs his keys off of his nightstand. Makes way passed Butters and Clyde. Away from their sickening sweets and abrasive arguing with the tv.

Down the apartment stairs and into the parking lot to where Craig makes way to his little car.

Again, he'll humor Stan. Maybe it's pity, but probably not. Craig can be empathetic, has to have been to be with Tweek.

However, like love and those moths that are back in their placement of their cocoons. Pity is dangerous, a feeling that Craig stifled, even before it was intentional. It's degrading towards others, and it's not as if Craig cares—but he tries to treat everyone as equal as he can. Neutrality. Pity is not neutral. Its not equalizing more as looking down and feeling bad. Craig Tucker feels bad for no one. Especially not Stan Marsh.

Though it's not pity, something felt weird about the plea.

So here Craig is parked in front of the marsh residence. Again.


	5. rules

Stan has a brown jacket draped over his frame. Craig watches as he pulls his front door shut behind him with a bit of force, crosses the distance to Craig's car. Craig leans over and flicks the lock of the vehicle to grant entrance to Stan.

And before Craig knows it he's got a quiet passenger. Craig's eyes flick to Stan for a brief second before falling onto the snow barren road of the Marsh's street. He starts up his car again, look to see if anyone is coming and then pulls away.

Craig doesn't know where he's going exactly. He just drives, drives through the streets of downtown South Park with the looming storefronts passing by. Taps his fingers against the leathery surface of his steering wheel as low playing music fills in the space of quiet.

Stan has his head rested on the cool window, the AC blasted and his breath fogs it just the slightest. It's a contrast from how chilled the car is and how hot it is outside. Craig bites at his lower lip. Even though he enjoys plain and boring Stan's silence is almost uneasy. It's not like the other really says much to Craig when they are around each other. It's more just the feeling behind this isolated situation. Something is just eerie as Stans expression remains the same. Low hanging eyelids with a frown that seems almost permanent these days. But that still isn't it, because Stan has looked sad for months. It's something else, something stiffer, staler than usual.

"Turn here." Stan lets out as the sign stating the turn to Starks pond comes into view. Craig complies, and his headlights illuminate the stretch of water and the dock ahead of them. The dock stretched out into the expanse. Craig puts his car in park on the grass. The parking for Starks has always, always been strange. He opts to twist his key in the ignition and turn his car off.

They sit and sit in this space of quiet between them. Hot Mulligan playing as Craig looks to Stan in his peripheral. He's still got that far off look. And Craig looks back ahead of him, he's not here to be Stan's friend or comfort him. He'll keep the company and if Stan doesn't want to talk it's fine. It's not like Craig has much to say to him.

The water is mirroring the sky. Star speckled and clear. It's a summer night, something that happens for a short amount of time in South Park. Only for one month, July. Craig can feel the heat, the sticky clinging to him as it warms in his car from lack of conditioning.

"Let's do something fun." Stan lets out. Craig doesn't look to him but can hear his movements, the swishing of his jacket. Him turning in the seat. Even the dry of his voice. Craig rolls this over in his mind. Fun? Stan and his friends idea of fun is vastly different from Craig's. Being stuck in Peru comes to the forefront of Craig's mind.

"Fun?" Craig parrots those thoughts, there is a bit of a coat of confusion. Like the word was dipped in a bucket full of it.

"Yeah, come on. Get undressed dude." Stan says, and Craig looks to him. Can see now that his body is gentle quivers and clenching. Fist balled up and tense shoulders.

"What?" Craig pries with that same perplexity he had at the start of the conversation.

"Lets skinny dip? I mean you don't have to just." Stan has his eyes downcast, and his hand on the back of his neck. It dawns on Craig at this moment that Stan isn't drunk. The scent of alcohol isn't clinging to him like a cheap perfume. In fact there is a sweet scent of soap instead of sick. Craig doesn't hear the lacing of tipsy in Stan's voice either. However, Craig remains quiet about it.

"Uh. Huh. Ok?" Craig retorts. He doesn't quite know why it was so easy for Stan to get that response. Craig is stubborn and he doesn't like his body all too much. It's thin and his rib bones protrude. He's got skinny arms and honey knees.

However, it's the stiffness. Watching Stan's hand be curled into fists, and claws when he unclenches. Fingers curved. As if he forgot how to let them untense.

It's also the damn boldness of it.

Stan isn't a bold man, really. He's a pussy, or Craig always viewed it that way. He doesn't always take what he wants unless it's something he wants with a passion. Something related to animals or at one point, Kyle.

It's strange and though Craig hates sentimentality, it means something.

So Craig unbuckles his seatbelt. Craig doesn't look at Stan as he pulls his work shirt over and off of his thin frame. Craig doesn't watch but more hears Stan remove his own clothing. Hears the ruffling of fabric. Craig's got his arms covering his chest as they are folded. He agreed to this, and maybe it isn't horrible. It's just the outsides, right? There is nothing vulnerable about the human body, or at least Craig thinks so. He may not like the way he looks but he can acknowledge that outsides don't equal insides. A pretty person can be ugly internally. But no one could know that by the surface. And Craig knows that he doesn't want Stan to know his insides. Knows Stan never will. With a bit of comfort washing over him, Craig goes to step out of his little ford festiva. Pulls his khakis off. He opted not to wear underwear.

There is that insecurity again. And all acceptance of inside and outsides float away. Craig looks down at his pants pooled onto the ground. Takes a deep breath, and goes towards the dock. He can hear Stan follow him. The sound of foliage being crushed underneath his bare feet followed by the noise of flesh hitting the wood. Craig can't fathom why he agreed to this. But he looks over his shoulder at Stan. It's not intentional but he feels his mouth go dry. And if the moths were in their cocoons, they've bursted out and are spreading their wings. Bumping against the confines of Craig's internals and trying to escape.

Because there Stan stands in his naked glory. He's thicker than Craig. But who isn't, really. His chest has a wealth of hair, and a small tummy. Thighs that are thicker than Craig's chicken legs and Craig's eyes fall on Stan's dick. It's not the longest, not short either. Not the thickest nor pencil thin. It stands a bit and Craig has to look away to stifle the rush of want that comes over him. The heat and flutters of those moths.

Craig bites at his lower lip and takes a deep breath before jumping into the water. It's warm, it's warm from the start and engulfs Craig as he goes under the surface. Starks is deeper than it looks and Craig has to swim back up. As his head breaks the surface he can hear Stan jumping in. And then they both are kicking their legs to keep themselves afloat.

Stan swims closer to Craig and looks passed him at the mountains and the stars in the distance. His eyes drift to Craig's countenance after the brief distraction. And Craig watches as Stan's frown remains in place, but opens as he begins to talk.

"It's shit, man." Stan lets out. He lets a sigh escape his lips, and squeezes the bridge between his eyes. His feet still kick, kick, kick under the water.

Craig can feel droplets rolling down his temple and it tickles. He wipes it away as he responds.

"What is?" Craig pries, he doesn't really know why he asks. But there is tears mixing in with Stan's own water drops from being under. He feels like that socially he should ask. It's also impulsive, comes out of Craig before he can ponder why he cares in the first place.

"Just. Everything. Everything fucking sucks, I." Stan chokes out. Craig looks down at his hands underwater. It look odd and deformed. And it's a great way to avoid looking at Stan. Because Craig is not pitying nor embarrassed for Stan. But he feels something in the pit of his stomach that he doesn't feel like he should.

It's worry.

It's worry and it's care and it's foreign, and Craig doesn't know why it's coating his organs. Why his stomach and heart feel bathed in it. Craig remains quiet. Biting at his lower lip with metal coated teeth. Yeah, it's a broken rule. But only he knows that. Craig looks to Stan, looks to him to show no fear or that anything's wrong. And Stan looks to him like he's known Craig forever.

"Your eyes look like hers, you know?" Stan says. And he gets a bit closer to Craig, and that bubble is broken again. Craig doesn't protest, though. Another broken rule.

"Who's?" Craig asks, softer and more curious than usual. Stan's eyes roam Craig's face, and Craig is unsure what he's looking for.

"Wendy's." Stan says simply. His face is flushed with a tint of red. Flushed and wet with tears.

And he's moved in, moved so close and Stan's lips are on Craig's now. Cut any retort Craig May have had off. Stan's tongue swipes at the seam of Craig's lips, and god. Shit. Another broken rule. Craig Tucker does not kiss.

But he kisses Stan. Lets him lick at his plush lips and suck at them. Taking the pink flesh between his own mouth before releasing. Trailing to the side of Craig's mouth where Stan kisses and nibbles.

He lets Stan kiss him, wraps his arms around the others frame in the dark of the night. Their legs tangle under the surface of water and Stan brushes his ankle against Craig's.

It's not sweet more as feverish. Desperate. And Craig doesn't know where is comes from. But those moths are bursting out of their rib cage prison now as a moan falls from Craig's lips. Stan's got his teeth dug into the crook of Craig's neck. Is eagerly ravishing him. Got his fingers curled around Craig's bony hips.

"I'm going to fuck the shit out of you." It's blunt coming from Stan and it's dangerous. It makes Craig's dick hard, makes him want to lose control and he doesn't do that. He never does.

"Fuck. Fuck, please." it comes from Craig on impulse. They pull away with Stan's eyes on Craig and Craig avoiding the contact. He can't believe he just said that. But Stan presses a kiss to his lips one more time before going to swim back to shore.

Craig watches him as he steps out of the water and stays frozen firmly where he is. His feet kicking but his mind stuck.

All the rules are being broken.

But Craig is just letting them. And he needs control. He needs to be the one to call the shots. Not Stan fucking Marsh. His fist clench. And he turns around to swim to shore where Stan stands there waiting. He's angry, because this just doesn't happen to Craig. He doesn't have sex with people or kiss people or date. No, nada.

"Don't ever kiss me again, Stan Marsh," Craig says as he steps up into Stan's bubble this time, he feels the white hot anger coursing through him. Its written all over his face. It's over powering and overwhelming, he forgets he's even naked. That his body is on display for Stan, doesn't notice the others eyes looking at every dip and curve with subtlety. Eyes taking on Craig's body.

"Don't be a dick dude. You obviously didn't have any complaints a few second ago," Stan starts. There is a pause and Craig thinks he must be mulling over what he wants to say. Stan's lucky Craig doesn't punch his stupid mouth,

"But I won't, you know? I respect that," Stan shrugs. Craig is inhaling through his nose and out of his mouth at the point. He lets a sigh out, and there is a slight bit of control gained.

"You're going to fuck me this one time. That's it, Stan." Craig lets out. Stan looks at him oddly, like he's in disbelief of that.

But he leans into Craig, pulling the other into his arms. Stan digs his nails into the flesh of Craig's sides. Backs him against the hood of the car where Craig sits himself down. Stan fits between Craig's legs and his dick rubs against the others thigh.

"So no kissing, huh?" Stan pries as he curls his fingers around Craig's length.

It feels good, as much as Craig won't admit that. It doesn't show from Craig talking shit or being loud. Though Craig is, you know—loud in bed. But it's in the way his hips jut up at the attention. How he bites his lower lip.

"No next time, too?" Stan pries again at Craig's silence. He's moving faster, and at the point has pressed his dick to Craig's. Wrapped his hand around both of them.

"You sure about that, huh?" Stan teases as he watches Craig's lips fall open, becoming looser and moving his hips with Stan's strokes.

"You don't want me to fuck your ass then?" Stan dips in a bit to whisper it to Craig. Stan kisses the space where Craig's lobe meets his head. And god, he's getting close. And shit, he's always been loud. The little whimpers fall from Craig out of pure desire and lack of sex. An itch that he's afraid to admit he had. And god, is this never what Craig intended when he agreed to any of this.

"I think you do, dude." And there it goes, Craig's come all into Stan's fist. And Stan pulled away so it wouldn't get on him without protection. Was using both hands and he continues stroking his dick, watching as Craig tries to catch his breath. Stan doesn't take his eyes off Craig. Just leans down to wipe his cum into the grass. Craig's laid back on the hood of his car and it's the first time he came in awhile,

And although this is not territory Craig ever wanted to enter, especially with Stan, it's too late now to look back.

So he doesn't, he looks up as he comes down. When Stan finished he joins him. It's hot and he's wet and he sticks to the metal of the car. They look to the stars.

"thanks." Stan vocalizes as his eyes explore the canvas of pitch black with white specks. He doesn't bother looking to Craig nor Craig him.

"I just needed someone tonight. It doesn't. You know, have to mean anything dude." Stan admits. Craig turns his head to the other. The dip and rise of his nose and lips. The moths are buzzing loud in Craig's ears. He stifles them. Because that's right, Stan is a little sick right now. Of course Craig is just a rebound, just a release.

It didnt mean anything. That's ok.


	6. sanctuary

Craig agreed to let Stan sleep over. There was a pause after Stan asked him. As if Craig was hesitant. He was and is. No one really has entered his room. It's his own little world, it's sacred and private. But the dirty crap Stan said to him rings in Craig's ears, makes his dick ache for attention, and he should say no. Stan's messy, this whole dynamic is messy. But Craig can't bring himself to say no because he's not sure he wants to.

There doesn't have to be emotional connection with petting and fucking. Craig knows, remembers the days after Thomas and his mom divorced. Remembers the countless men Laura would bring in just to satiate that need. The loneliness he assumed. Craig is more needing a sexual fix. Nothing more or less, at least that's his excuse. They stumble up the stairs of Craig's apartment complex, Stan offering his hand for Craig to hold. Craig looks at it, his blank expression unreadable and unwavering. He takes the hand, palm against palm. Stan leads the way. It's strange because he doesn't quite know if Stan's ever been to Craig's living space. Strange that Stan knows the way as if he's been there a million times.

It dawns on him that maybe he has. Stan and butters are close, right?

When they are at the top, at Craig's floor Stan doesn't let his grip go. Instead pulling Craig by that hold into him. Their lips smash together. And Craig's lips part and tingle with the desire of being kissed and yearning to be kissed. He pulls away still as Stan puckers, lets his now released hand fall to his side.

"We aren't doing that," Craig lets out. It's stern and it's a rule, not one Craig is willing to break. Stan's tongue darts out to wet his lips and his lids hang low as he stares at Craig.

"Sorry, uh. Forgot." Stan lets out. But somehow Craig doesn't think he's sorry or forgot. Whatever the case. Craig maneuvers his way passed Stan to push the door to his floor open. Leads the way to his door. In a swirly metal it tread 25A. And Craig slips his key in.

There was hope that Butters and Clyde would be asleep. But as Craig steps through the front door with Stan following after. They look to them. Butters smiles, waves to Stan as Clyde pauses shoving a cheesy puff into his mouth. He's about to be a dick, Craig knows he is. But as he's about to open his big fat mouth the game on his screen reads "YOU DIED."

"Fuck, sorry guys. Just shook my virginal roommate getting the dick." Clyde says to the entirety of the internet. Craig lets out a sigh, makes way to his bedroom with his arms crossed. There is a wave of anxiety and Craig is drowning in it. He tries to even his breath.

The door to his bedroom closes and he doesn't look for Stan's reaction. He doesn't care, he tells himself. There are posters after posters of pop cultural references. Red Racer merch with a bit of Terrance and Phillip. Lots of sci fi and fantasy with a mix of band posters too. Funko pops collected on the windowsill, and Craig's bowl placed on his nightstand with his starry night light.

Craig sits on his bed, kicks his shoes off and presses down on his nightlight. It comes to life and there are stars. Stars littering the ceiling in the naturally dim light.

Stan's hunched over, looking over something on Craig's dresser. And Craig notices it to be a picture of Tricia Craig took for her middle school graduation.

Craig doesn't say anything, and when Stan is done he takes a seat on Craig's bed next to him. The comforter is plush and space themed too.

Stan reaches a hand up, touches Craig's hair. Fingers combing through his dark locks. And Craig leans into the touch. It feels good. And Stan's hand trails downwards, down to Craig's cheek where he rubs circles with his thumb. Then pushes Craig's face to him gingerly.

"Dude...thanks." Craig blinks at Stan, unsure why he's thanking him. Stan doesn't smile or show physical signs of gratitude. But somehow Craig doesn't think he's being sarcastic.

"I just. I didn't. You didn't have to let me stay here you know man? I know you've always been, well. Weird about this stuff." Stan vocalizes, honest. And Craig bites at his lips.

It dawns on him that he doesn't ever let anyone in too close. He didn't want to let Stan in and he won't. But it looks that way, because Stan knows. Knows that this is a space that no one else is allowed in and Craig's granting him permission.

"Okay." Is all Craig says, though there is more he should and could.

Stan puts his arm around Craig's middle and pulls him onto him. Laying back on Craig's sheets and blankets and sanctuary. Stan's hair spills onto the white pillows and Craig looks down at it. At the way he looks at Craig's green eyes as if he's known them forever, at the slightly darker coloration of Stan's lips compared to Craig's. At his button nose and blown at pupils.

Craig juts his hips up, and Craig can feel his hard on against his ass. The only thing stopping Stan from penetrating him is lack of protection and lube, and their pants.

"I have. You know, condoms and lube in the nightstand." Craig lets out. He's got them from the stupid sexual eduction seminar he had to go to for his job, it was a strange request from the district manager.

Stan looks at him for a few second before turning a bit to search these out. Craig looks at the expanse of his neck that is exposed. The beauty marks that look like they are dotted on with a paintbrush.

When Stan turns back he puts the items he needs down onto the night stand to come back to later. He rests his hands on Craig's sides, sliding down to the hem of his shirt where he begins to lift the fabric. Craig lets him undress him. And feels as Stan shakes off his pants, and then there are Craig's and they are sitting in the dim of Craig's room. A bit of the starry lights fall on Craig's body, and he can feel Stan's eyes on him as he looks down at his hands.

"Fuck," Stan lets out.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous." He says, but it comes out choked more than anything. Craig blinks and looks to Stan, and he looks drained. Flushed. Like he's going to be sick. Craig is about to ask if he's alright, about to open his mouth when he feels that Stan has puked on him, again, and Craig lets out a disgusted noise.

"Uhg," Craig says as he wipes his hands onto his comforter.

He helps Stan clean up his mess, presses his palm to the other forehead and then they go to bed. Craig pulls the blankets over their frame. The mood slightly dampened. No one likes to be puked on when they are trying to get dick.

It's early morning when Craig wakes. The sun is still hanging low in the sky and he goes to stand when he feels himself behind held down. Stan Marsh's arms are wrapped around his tiny frame rather tightly. His nose buried in Craig's black locks.

Craig knows he should get himself out from the grasp but lays back into it. Closes his eyes for just a few more seconds before lifting Stan's arm off of him. He stands up as the sun goes higher and higher in the sky. The rays filter in through his blinds and Craig rubs his eyes from the bright.

He gets dressed in khakis and his polo. Pushes his messed up hair behind his ears. When he's finished Craig goes to grab the keys off his night stand. His eyes fall on Stan and he pauses.

Stan is illuminated and bathing in the glow of the sun. Lips partially opened as he inhales and exhaled. Eyelashes kissing apples of cheeks. And his skin looks like gold. And maybe there is symbolism there.

But Craig tries not to dwell on that. Opts to push some black strands away from the others face, press a kiss to his forehead and leave him in his bed.


	7. temporary fix

Stan wakes to the sunlight filtering in through the blinds. It bright, and he reaches his hand up to his face to wipe his eyes. They're watery from the exposure to the light. He closes them, lets a sigh fall from his lips. Stan's turning to pull Craig back into his arms, feel the other pressed close to his body.

However, Stan is met with an empty bed. His blue eyes open to the spot where Craig was. He's not there. And Stan can feel a wash of that gnawing loneliness overcome him. The shit he's felt since the accident, the crap that drives him to drink. Stan doesn't feel much when sober. But what he does feel, is a pure unbridled desire to not be alone. And that's all. He's not alone when he drinks. He's occupied by anger and bitter and hurt. And those aren't nice, but they aren't nothing.

The little spot there where Stan's puke stained Craig's pullover sheets catches his attention.

The sheets are starry, minus this. Stan presses a finger to it. It's surreal, something that doesn't sit right in the pit of his stomach. The bodily waste is dried up, but it was once fresh. And Stan did that. He hasn't puked on anyone but Wendy. That really hasn't been for a long time, and honestly. He thought he was over it.

But his eyes were on Craig sitting on top of him, naked and bathing in the slits of star shaped light. His pretty pink mouth parted and Stan's hands were all over him. Craig was vulnerable and willing to take Stan's cock, which was hard and yearning to be buried in Craig.

Stan knows these were things the other doesn't do. Knows that the fact that him being in Craig's room was, in itself a form of intimacy. And Stan thinks that maybe he won't be allowed this ever again. So something in him felt an overwhelming amount of desire. Desire to make it something Craig would remember.

And then he puked.

Stan lets out a long suffering sigh. Squeezing the bridge of his nose. He wants a menthol cigarette. A beer. Embarrassment isn't even something he's felt for a long time, but he feels it like a wound that is being pressed down on with prying fingers in this moment. He pulls his hand back from where he is touching the stain.

He can't drink even if he wanted to. It's the reason he initially called on Craig. It's the reason why he's left on Craig's bed.

They were trying to help, really. Stan's family gathered him into the living room. Standing around his messy little space. They refurbished his old bedroom, and initially when Stan moved back home that's where he stayed. But after many drunk nights where he tried to do something stupid, it was agreed for him to stay on the couch.

Stan remembers pulling from his cigarette. The smoke entering his lungs and sitting, before he exhaled it. He'd flick the ashes into the shitty tray on their coffee table. He knew what was to come, he's seen it way too often in media.

His family was holding an intervention. And he was the center of it. Stan remembers being quiet. A little defensive at them calling him out on his alcoholism.

And though Randy and Sharon didn't agree on much these days, they did love him.

And that shouldn't have made him feel bad. But he'd feel a heavy weight that people were missing. Kenny was there, sure. He was there, sitting on their stairway next to Shelly.

But Wendy wasn't.

Neither was Kyle.

At least people cared. Stan knows this is a lot more than others have. It's all people assigned to love him, though. The people who gave birth, his sister. Kenny is an exception, but no one that doesn't really have an obligation to him is there. The people he desires, yearns for and misses the most have fucked off. Stan's fucked up so bad that he will never have them back.

So that's how he found himself with Craig. He needed a distraction. And Craig wasn't like Kenny. Kenny was more honest, would be blunt with him. Would want to talk about it. Kenny knew Stan. He needed someone oblivious.

So that's how Stan finds himself sitting up in Craig's bed. He stretches the sleep off of him. Takes in his environment again with one last once over. Eyes falling on the funko pops, the posters, stripes cage, the pictures. Stan feels something soft and warm plop itself onto him as he looks. And a little black and white cat nods her head at him, inviting him to touch her.

Stan hesitates before stretching his hand out to stroke her fur, scratch behind her ear. She nuzzles into his touch. Stan loves animals, loves them more than humans. Often dwells on the fact he works in the meat department of jmart. It's ironic, really. The one thing Stan really has a passion and care for in his sickness is the one thing he has to do the opposite of. Instead of caring and nurturing animals, he's cutting them into pieces and selling their meat.

When the cat is finished getting her fix of love for the day, she stretches too. Hops down from Stan's lap and crosses the distance to Craig bathroom. And wow, Stan has to pee. So he stands, opting to leave after this.

He doesn't notice it at first. Doesn't notice it as he whips out his dick and relieves himself. Stan does notice it though, as he goes to wash his hands. Notices that he's not looking at himself or anything, just a pillowcase taped to a mirror.

Stan takes that in. Blinks at it as he flicks the excess water off of his hands. He thinks about it, even as he leaves Craig's apartment.

Again, Craig is reserved. And this is territory that Stan was never supposed to see. So he'll keep his questioning to himself.

Though, he has a few of them. A few intrusive thoughts that come to his mind, too.

It drives Stan crazy when people don't look at him. It dawns on Stan that maybe Craig doesn't like to look at himself either. Maybe that's why eye contact is so hard for him. Even though Craig tries to be bold, Stan sees his downcast gaze. Stan isn't any better really. He still doesn't cover up his mirror to avoid his own gaze.

And the idea of fucking Craig in a mirror, making him look at Stan and himself keeps propping up. Because maybe if Craig is pushed to see himself, see how pretty he is while Stan fucks into him. Stan pressing kissing the expanse of Craig's tan shoulders, whispering to him little sweet nothings. Maybe he'll be able to learn to look by himself. Maybe he'll be able to look at Stan.

And although Stan doesn't like, love Craig or have a crush on him.

There is a level of desire he has for him. Fulfilling some of Stan's sexual frustration. It's hard for Stan not to care about people he sleeps with, either. He may not totally have a liking for the other, but he's there. At the least. He's brought back to the initial night they hung out. To Stan's drunken crying, his yearning for company, to telling Craig to leave after he was burnt. Of Craig denying him that out of spite.

It's messy.

And Stan misses Wendy, but at least he's not yanking his dick to her image and is actually getting something, now.

Even if that something is a temporary fix to a long term problem.


	8. passion

Stan sees people he knew all the time at his job. Will see Butters, who will smile at him and shoot the breeze while he carries baking materials in his arms. He'll see his sister with Kevin McCormick, their daughter sitting in the shopping cart as they stroll through the store. Shelly will be loud and vocal while Kevin quiet. Stan's niece, Salem will make little happy noises, or sometimes ones of distress as her big blue eyes take in the strange setting with foreign people. She'll see Stan though and perk up at the safety. Kenny will come in on his days off, just to chat. Lean over the meat department display and ask for samples.

Stan sees a lot of people he knows at his job.

But he's never seen Wendy come in. Stan hasn't seen her at all since the accident. She went away to live with a relative a few towns over, and has blocked him on everything she could think of. So when he looks up from changing the song he was listening to while waiting for customers, sees her standing there quite awkwardly but also quite beautiful, just as she left him. He has to contain himself from being sick.

They look at each other, Wendy's green eyes on Stan's countenance. He can feel his heart stammer. A consistent and loud drumming in his ears. She doesn't smile, and Stan doesn't say anything. He wants to. God, does he want to. It doesn't come out. It's like the words are glued down inside of him. Unwilling to come loose.

And Wendy is bold. She's never shied away from eye contact. She's brave and cunning. Stan thinks of Craig and his similar hazel eyes. He doesn't know why, but he does.

"I need a pound of sharp cheddar." And that's right, Stan works in meats. Cold cuts, really. It dawns on him, though. Wendy is a vegan. They both are. Or Stan used to be. He's loosened that moral up after being offered the only position he could obtain after sloppily being fired from his last job. After being surrounded by food he never thought he'd eat again. When you work with food, you usually eat said food. The rules of working in restaurants.

He's wants to open his mouth and ask about it. Has so much really changed, has Wendy really gave up her own beliefs of protecting animal rights and treatment? Or was she just influenced by Stan's passion while they were together? He's about to question it, when he sees Kyle come from around her. He pulls her into his arms and she smiles up at him. He's exactly the same as Stan remembers him. Wild red hair, lanky and thin. He presses a kiss to Wendy's dark treases, than looks to him. As recognitization falls onto him, his eyes grow big. Like he's shocked in that moment. They return to their normal size. He untangles himself from Wendy. Looks ashamed. Like he's got caught in the filthiest act known to man.

"Uh, oh. Hey dude." Kyle tries to force a smile. Stan can't return the gesture. He's fighting tears. If his heart was sewn together messily. It's been torn by those very seams in that moment. He feels it, falling to pieces like it did that night. The one after the many ones filled with drinking. And eventually, a drunken mistake. A mistake that cost Stan his girlfriend, his best friend and his job.

It was stupid how it all started. Salem was turning 1 years old. Stan remembers smiling as he held her in his grasp. He remembers using his free hand to hold onto his fourth? Fifth cup of beer? It was a special occasion. Everyone there was drinking. Wendy warned him off on alcohol. Told him not top pick up. Even if Shelly was. Even if Kevin was. It was in passing, Stan really didn't think too much into it. Stan thought he'd be ok. He really did.

He put the bottle down for the first time in high school. They told him that once he's an alcoholic there is no taking that away. That he'd have to keep up with recovery for the remainder of his life. Do. Not. Drink. Ever again.

He didn't listen.

Wendy's gaze on him does not falter as they stand across from each other in jmart. She has her chin raised. Stan can see the tense in her, though. Stan used to be angry at Kyle. And although they never got their closure, Stan came to a place where he stopped calling him. Stopped angrily texting him. He stopped feeling this. Numbed anything when sober.

However, in this moment he's a wealth of anger and sadness. Something he really hasn't let himself feel since it all came to a messy end. And instead of taking the order he turns on his heels. There is one other in the meat department, as he passes his co worker, Butters old friend Dougie—he mumbles about needing to take his break.

He doesn't know how he makes it to the break room of jmart. Stan's numb, his face feels prickly. Like it's fallen asleep, if he were to press down on the flesh he wouldn't feel it.

This feeling runs throughout his body. Along with the lack of emotions. He wants to cry but can't. Stan doesn't notice Craig as he sits next to him.

His mouth is parted, breathing uneven. There has to be a lack of oxygen, something has to be cutting off his air supply. Stan reaches a hand up to his neck, his fingernails digging into the flesh. Its as if nothing is there. He's choking, and god, he can't breath.

"Stan?" Stan can hear Craig's dry questioning. He's got his hands folded in his lap, and Stan's scared eyes fall on him.

And they're green. And they're familiar. And he can't. Fucking. Breathe.

"You have to breathe. You have to try. Please." Craigs eyes are on him, and he doesn't reach to him, doesn't touch him.

It's almost soothing, hearing anyone tell him what to do. As if they care. Stan looks at Craig, and tries. It's hard to breathe through his nose, like there is something clogging it.

"Tell me what you see. Describe something, if you can." Craig tries. Stan squeezes his eyes shut, but still attempts to get the air in. His eyes dart about, the lockers, inspirational posters, before falling back on Craig. The safest thing he can really think of. Stan clings to that, clings to it like he's drowning and Craig is the only thing keeping him afloat.

"Dark hair. Like mine," it comes out all slurred. Messed up. Craig nods his head, his dark rimmed gaze doesn't falter.

"Ok. What else?" Craig pries. Stan's got his breathing a bit more even. In through the nose, out through the mouth. He tries to avoid saying anything about Craig's eyes. Because he knows, that although there is similarity. They aren't the same. Stan's stare darts to Craig's lips.

"Your lips are pink. They're pink, soft. Dude...they're really fucking soft." Stan blurts our. He wipes at his eyes, finds that there are tears that gathered on his cheeks.

"You have tan skin...a mole by your eye." He says with more ease. Craig is nodding his head. And Stan's breathing isn't as hard. His heart beat has slowed.

"Thanks, man." He says, sniffling through the words. Craig's face is blank. Hard to read. Stan stares at it as Craig's eyes fall back down to his work notebook.

"Ok." Is all he says. And that drives Stan mad. In a way. It's quiet now, Stan watches as Craig keeps his attention down at that damn schedule. He's not writing anything, he's biting at his lips. And Stan knows he wants to talk, but he won't.

So he does.

"I guess Wendy is fucking Kyle now." He lets out. It's wet from the snot and tears, and it hurts. Craig finally looks up at him through black lashes. And that makes Stan ache just a bit. Pretty.

"He's. Isn't that. Isn't that a violation of guy code?" Craig questions. And Stan let out a laugh. It bursts though the shit. The shit and tears. That was a thing at their high school. An all encompassing shit show that took up the entirety of two months. It was between Kyle, Cartman and Heidi. No one really wanted involvement in it. But it was still apart of the rumor mill. Apparently Cartman stole Heidi from Kyle for the upteenth time. Kyle was not happy.

And thus, guy code was implemented.

It was for Kyle's gain, really.

"Yeah, dude. It is. Fuck." Stan lets out. And he watches as Craig smiles briefly, an upturning of the corners of his lips. It falls just as soon as it appears.

All jokes pushed aside, Stan lets a sigh fall from him. He doesn't know why he does it but he stretches a arm to Craig's to cover the tanned, freckled hand.

Craig doesn't protest. And Stan looks at him as he looks back down.

"I pushed her, you know? I didn't mean to. I was drunk. I wanted her to just stop. She wouldn't. I pushed her. Kyle took her side, they posted it all over Facebook..." Stan admits. It hurts. It hurts so bad to say it out loud. It was an accident. It really was. He was drunk and Wendy was livid. He just wanted her to stop. So he turned around and intended to lightly get her away from him.

He pushed her into a wall. She fell on her ass. Bruises littered her tan skin. And she left him for it. She had every right. Stan knows this.

But it hurts.

It's his own stupid mistake.

He's an asshole, he's a piece of shit.

Stan wants to drink. Feels the desire for it in the back of his throat. A whole body yearning.

"Kyle's a dick." Craig retorts. He squeezes Stan's hand. And looks down at them, he's got his lip between two rows of teeth.

"He's always been a dick...but you were wrong. You know that. I think you do. But, that doesn't make you bad?" And that's the most Stan's ever heard Craig say. Ever. He looks at him, and sees he's not finished.

"People do shitty things. You took my birthday money and got me stuck in Peru. But..." and Craig's free hand is on the back of his neck where he's rubbing his palm into it.

"I got over it. She's allowed her resentment. Whatever. But you're allowed to still live. And you know, move on. Be happy or whatever." Craig finishes. And Stan stares at him with perplexity. It's the nicest Craig's ever been, and Stan feels a wash of warmth over him. Stan doesn't smile. He can't seem to find that in him, ever.

They sit in quiet. And Craig removes his hand from Stan's grasp. Taps his pen against the surface of table. And Stan really takes him in.

Craig's hair is pushed behind his ears. Longer than usual, curled a bit at the ends that stops below his above his chin. Stan remembers his fingers curled into it the other night. Before Craig left him in his bed. Remembers watching those lips fall open, the little noises that fell out and made Stan yearn for more. It was a sexual thing. And Stan knows he's not, well, in love with Craig or anything.

But for the time being, it makes sense. And this is safe, and this is a good distraction. And Stan really wants to watch Craig squirm under him. Wants every part of Craig to fall apart for him.

So he reaches his hand out again, his fingers under Craig's chin. Lifting his face so they're eyes to eye.

"I'm going to fuck you." Stan says with a boldness that he doesn't quite think he's ever had. He's not good with romance. Always had to consult others. But he feels this as if it's a passion deeply sitting inside him that he needs to act on. And Stan watches as Craig's pupils get a bit bigger, though his demeanor remains the same.

"What?" Craig questions him. And Stan hesitates. His eyes flick to Craig's lips though, and remembers kissing them. Remembers those whimpers. And it's there again. That drive to take on this project.

"Meet me at my car after work," Stan doesn't ask or suggest, more as demands. He lets the grip he has on Craig's chin go, then stands. Dusts his pants off, than makes way back to the meat department.

Wendy and Kyle are still there. But Stan is focused now. Thinking of how he's going to get Craig into bed. He doesn't look to them as they get their order filled by Dougie. He goes to the next customer.

At this point, he should be aching for a drink. He's 2 days sober now. Only two days, but it's the longest in awhile. It really is. He's going to his first meeting in a few days, with Kenny. And maybe he still doesn't feel many things at all. Maybe he's still fucking thirsty for jack. But with a rush of bad emotions came some inkling of good. A desire, a passion to break Craig Tucker into pieces.

And at the time it makes sense. It makes sense to think of something, anything else than what hurts. It makes sense to want to be significant to anyone other than his goddamn parents. It makes sense to want to want to see someone else's vulnerability, sides that no one else has.

Because if he can get to see something out of someone as reserved as Craig, maybe he's worth seeing it.

So Stan stifles the bad. Takes in the good. Even if it's not long term.


	9. not enough

Stan gets off a little while before Craig.

More than a 'little while.' He hasn't really thought through "meet me at my car." It was something that formulated in his mouth without being processed through Stan's brain. Something that came out of him and was in the air and acknowledged, he can't take back. So Stan sits in the car he is even fortunate enough to be allowed to drive.

Fingers curl around the steering wheel with blue eyed gaze ahead of him, watching the automatic doors of jmart. Stan was confident, and now he doesn't even know what he feels. It's a mixture of that overwhelming feeling of numb. Pins and needles prickling at his insides. Also, fear. He's thrown up at the side of his car for maybe the upteenth time a few minutes ago. Taken a water battle that was stale and washed it away, rid of the evidence.

Stan hasn't felt much while sober. As he looks ahead, he can't help but realize that it's all rushing back. They're butterflies, really. Sickly butterflies. Poisonous and toxic.

They land on his heart, they infect. Stan tries to focus on his intentions for the night but all he can think of is the way Kyle came up to Wendy. His phone sits next to him in the cup holder. The poison is coursing throughout Stans frame, his very being. Stan fucked up so much. He knows he did.

It doesn't stop him from plucking the phone from the cup holder, jamming his fingers on Kyle's contact and calling him. Stans teeth grit together. He shouldn't do this and he knows he shouldn't. It's shit though. It's fucking shit, all of it. He itches for a drink just to stifle how shit it is. Normally when sober, Stan doesn't feel much. He doesn't lose his temper or throw a fit. This was more a drunkenly exclusive thing because what is repressed without the bottle is usually exposed with the liquid courage.

"...you reached Kyle Broflovski. Leave your name and phone number and I'll call you back."

Beeeeep.

Stans breathes into the phone. It's creepy and awkward and he realizes this. Say something, anything. He tells himself. And after a minute or two of sniffling and breathing, he's asked if he'd like to send the message, discard it or re record. Stan pulls the phone from his ear and stares at its screen. Hesitates before he presses down on the option to re record.

"I. I loved her first." It's wet and ugly. The anger that Stan felt takes a back seat and its sadness in the forefront now.

"You know I work here. Right? Why are you guys...doing this? Like, Jesus Christ dude. I get it. I'm a piece of shit. I messed up. I hurt her. I was sloppy and drunk. I. Get. It. I was wrong!"

Stan pauses there. Pauses because the image of the pure unbridled fear that had fallen onto Wendy as Stan pushed her flashes through his mind. And it sits there, and it hurts

"You're killing yourself, Stan! I'm not going to sit here and watch this happen laying down!"

Stan wanted her to stop. He did, just for one goddamn moment. All Wendy wanted to do was help.

Instead she was pushed away, literally. It wasn't even this action that made their relationship go to shit. This was the final straw to the fantastic shit show that was their love story. Wendy and Stan were never perfect together. They were flawed. The alcoholism resurfaced, and Stan promised it wouldn't. Countless nights of them arguing about it as Stan would stumble home from the office. Already drunk from sneaking jack on the job. Nights of Wendy expressing her betrayal and concerns. Nights of Stan sleeping on the couch. Stans passed history with alcohol. All of it contributing to this.

The same question of 're-record, send or discard' is asked as Stan breathes into the phone. With shaking hands Stan listens to his ugly voice play back to him.

He discards it.

Stan throws his phone to the passenger seat. And he screams.

The scream is loud but muffled in the confines of his car. He screams and it's almost therapeutic. He screams and as it comes to a halt, he feels this relief wash over him. Stan tries to even his breathing, tries to wipe at his eyes. With those still trembling hands he goes to dip down and seek out his cigarettes. He finds them somewhere in his glove compartment, as he sits up and goes to roll down his window he's met with Craig Tucker.

And that's right. And Stan told him to meet him at his car.

He's still shaking, and Craig goes round to the passenger side. Craig's thin, draped in a black jacket that is obviously too big for him. It has the nasa logo on the back, Stan notices as the other walks in front of his car to the other side.

As Craig takes his seat, it's quiet. Stans heart stammers and he's afraid of Craig hearing it. They sit in that pocket of awkward that Stan knows he will have to pop. He can't in that moment, instead goes into action and twists his keys in the ignition.

They pull out of the parking lot of jmart. It's late and the moon has made her full ascent into the sky. She's full with it, gracing the dark canvas with her presence. July is to end in a few days. The weather is starting to cool down. By the end of the week there will be snow blanketing the streets again.

Stan still turns the ac up.

"I have. You know, CDs in the glove compartment." Stan informs Craig. And they are driving downtown at this point. Passed storefronts that are dark and empty at this time of night.

"Ok," Craig responds. Stan can hear the rustling of his jacket. The sound of the glove compartment popping open. The CD case being unzipped and Craig fiddling with his radio. They're all good fillers. All something else to focus on. The sound of Stans favorite band, hot Mulligan starts to emit from his speakers. This is an even better distraction.

"Did you think I could stop being selfish? I do what I can but it's chemical...there is just some things you can't change like the color of your eyes, or how your hair parts to one side naturally."

"I thought I was the only one who liked this band, dude." Stan lets out as they pull into Craig's apartment complex. Stan parks but turns his engine off.

"Don't be pretentious." Craig lets out dryly. He has his hands rested on his lap, folded neatly with his gaze ahead of him. Stan looks at that, and his tongue darts out to wet his lips. That feeling of desire is starting to come back. That's good, really.

"I mean. I just never meet anyone outside of the internet who listens to the same shit? So." Stan tries. He can see Craig dip his head, did Stan make him do that? Craig has that smile on his face, the small one that Stan doesn't think he's ever been a cause of.

"Incredible." Craig says as the upturning of his lips fall. He raises his chin, but his attention is not on Stan.

"What is?" Stan pries. Craig bites at his lips, he always does. Stan remembers covering his own mouth with Craig's. He wonders if he can break him down enough to have permission to that again. It's not even so much of wanting to open Craig to it as Stan really just likes how soft Craig's lips are. They're pinker than his. Dusty pink against tan flesh.

"Uhg. Aren't you anti internet? Or something?" Craig questions. Stan blinks, and he lets a laugh escape him. Really?

"No? I don't use Facebook. I haven't really since...but I mean, no." Stan lets out. Stopping himself from saying that he hasn't used Facebook since he signed on to see what Wendy and Kyle were posting about him. Wendy was never one to post much on there. She did after they broke up.

She wasn't nasty. Stan remembers thinking she wasn't as he read her status of how things change, and people do too.

And how she can't fix him.

Stan looks away from Craig and it's awkward again. He curls his fingers around the steering wheel and lets out a sigh.

He can feel Craig's stare on him. Stan thinks he must be looking when he thinks Stan doesn't notice. Stan's not angry or forceful with what he says next. It's more just trying to pry into Craig.

"You know, you can look at me in the face. You've done it before. I promise I won't like, murder you with laser vision." Stan lets out, he turns to Craig and their eyes are on each other this time. And Craig doesn't falter. He doesn't back down from things. Stan knows this about the other. Craig Tucker doesn't go down without a fight.

They're hazel, and Stan notices now that although they are similar, there is a lot of difference between Craig and Wendy's eyes. Like how Craig has speckles of honey brown in them. How there is even a little dot, like a beauty mark mixed in with the green and brown.

Pretty.

"I mean. I'm the one who had lasers. Shooting from my eyes." Craig retorts. Stan blinks and finds himself smiling at that. And it's odd and strange, Stan doesn't do much smiling these days.

But he just did. He has.

"So, you want me to fuck you?" Stan lets out. It's at this that Craig looks away. And Stan has to stop himself from making him look at him.

Craig seems to mull it over in his head. Stan lets him. Knows that Craig isn't easy to break. They sit in that quiet. Stan allows it.

"...just this once. Since. You know, last time." Craig responds. Stan nods his head to it. Right. One perfect night is all Stan needs.

Just one night.

Fortunately, the apartment is empty. Stan can tell Craig would be grateful for it, if he actually noticed. But Stan presses him against the surface of his door as soon as it's closed. He's got his teeth dig into Craig's neck. Is marking what is his for the night. Stan can feel Craig's heart beat as they are pressed together. Can feel the rise and fall of his chest with every inhale and exhale.

"Bed." Stan says into the space where shoulder and neck meet. Craig's got his hands buried into Stans dark locks. His eyes closed as Stan ravishes him.

"Fuck...o-ok." Craig lets out as Stan disconnects from him. They stumble into Craig's bedroom where they fall back onto the soft surface, into the sheets. Craig climbs on top of him, legs on both sides of Stan. Stan leans up and presses a kiss to the side of Craig's mouth. When Craig turns his head in the slightest, and their mouths are together. And they're kissing in the dark of Craig's room.

They don't stop. Stan humps his hips up to press his boner against Craig's ass. But he continues kissing Craig. Reaches his hands down to those bony hips and digging his fingertips into his flesh. There will be bruises. Stan doesn't care.

They pull apart, finally. Stan feeling around Craig's nightstand for that condom. For that little pack of lube. When he finds them, he puts them to the side. Than goes to undress himself. Watches as Craig undresses in the dim. Watches as his jacket and pants fall off. How Craig lifts his work shirt off of him. The way he's partially lighted from the streetlight filtering in through his blinds. Little slits of light. The smooth of his skin and the pink of his lips that are bright in it.

They are naked and Stan gets to work. Ripping open the lube and moving his fingers to Craig's ass. He presses kisses to Craig as he opens him up. Knowing it hurts and probably isn't something he does often, or at all.

Stan is gentle. Gently e uses one finger, then adds one more. He can feel how tight Craig is around his fingers. It drives Stan crazy. Aching to stick himself in. He quickens his pace, they moved positions and Craig's bent his ass over. Stan grips onto his hair as he fucks Craig open with his digits.

"You like that, huh?" Stan teases as he hears Craig's panting with every stroke. When Craig doesn't respond he pulls on the others hair, not too hard or forcefully.

"Answer me." Stan demands. He can hear what sounds like a choked moan. Followed by Craig stumbling words out.

"Yes...yes! Fuck..." it's loud, and Stan likes that. He leans down to press a kiss to Craig's shoulder blade before pulling his fingers out. He quickly scoops up the condom, rips open the packaging and rolls it onto his dick. His hands are still slick with the lube and he wipes the remainder down his cock.

Stan positions himself with Craig's asshole, the others face is stuffed into his blankets. And Stan thinks he's seen exactly what he's wanted. This is exactly what he needed. And he slowly pushes in. Starts with slow strokes. Grips onto Craig's hair again to get him from hiding his face.

With each stroke Craig gets needier and needier. Stan can tell he's trying to contain himself. It all comes loose as they reposition. Stan pulls Craig onto his lap. wraps his arms around Craig's middle so he's sitting on Stans dick.

"Ride me. Go at it." Stan demands. He jerks his hips up. There is a pause at first, but as soon as that falls it breaks. Because Craig starts to move himself up and down on Stans cock. And Stan lays back, enjoying the view and the sounds.

He strokes Craig's cock as he rides. Bouncing up and down on him with no repression. Stan takes in every noise made, how good it feels to be inside of Craig. Eventually, Craig cums all overhimaelf. Stans not finished though, he jabs himself up and continues fucking Craig even when he's done. And not too far after, Stan is done too.

They collapse next to each other on Craig's comforter. And Stan gathers the other into his arms. Presses one last kiss to Craig's lips as he begins to doze off. Sex sleepy and needing rest.

Stan lays there and stares as Craig sleeps. Craig is a good distraction. A good project. A good lay. As he's bathed in the streetlight and Stan stares at him in it, he can't help but think one perfect nights just. Not enough.

He knows once this is over he's to return back to his thoughts, to the fact that Kyle has a recent call from him. That he is to try to recover from everything.

Stans grips around Craig tightens. He doesn't let go. He's not going to be left alone in Craig's bed again.

It's pathetic. It's desperate.

He doesn't intend to ever stop, now that he's started.

And maybe that makes sense at the time.


End file.
